“What! You can't kid me! Who are you?” cried Worry, getting red in the face. “I've seen you somewhere.”
“My name's Ray.”
“Say! Not Ray, the intercollegiate champion?”
“I'm the fellow. I talked it over with Murray. He kicked, but I didn't mind that. I promised to try to keep in shape to win the sprints at the intercollegiate meet.”
“Say! Get out there in left field! Quick!” shouted Worry.... “Peg, hit him some flies. Lam 'em a mile! That fellow's a sprinter, Peg. What luck it would be if he can play ball! Hit 'em at him!”
Ken took the ball Worry tossed him, and, picking up a bat, began to knock flies out to Ray. The first few he made easy for the outfielder, and then he hit balls harder and off to the right or left. Without appearing to exert himself Ray got under them. Ken watched him, and also kept the tail of his eye on Worry. The coach appeared to be getting excited, and he ordered Ken to hit the balls high and far away. Ken complied, but he could not hit a ball over Ray's head. He tried with all his strength. He had never seen a champion sprinter, and now he marvelled at the wonderful stride.
“Oh! but his running is beautiful!” exclaimed Ken.
“That's enough! Come in here!” yelled Worry to Ray.... “Peg, he makes Dreer look slow. I never saw as fast fieldin' as that.”
When Ray came trotting in without seeming to be even warmed up, Worry blurted out: “You ain't winded—after all that? Must be in shape?”
“I'm always in shape,” replied Ray.